Sunday, March 3, 2013
Life On The Rez
Life On The Rez. II
LUCY
Lucille Ball had nothing on my sister and I.
One time while visiting my sister on the Grand Portage Indian Reservation we proved this theory. My sister was living with her husband and child in her mother-in-law’s residence. An unenviable position. It is hard enough for the average daughter-in-law to measure up to her spouse’s mother’s expectations, but my sister compounded this by being twenty years younger then her husband and being white.
Granny (her mother-in-law) decided to lie down for an afternoon nap. While she was napping, we decided to catch up on the laundry. Life on the reservation was hard. Poverty abound, and although it was the early nineteen eighties, conveniences were behind the times.
“Therese, get me the basket of clothes from the living room." My sister instructed. As I returned to the kitchen I saw my sister roll out a strange looking contraption from a storage closet. It looked like a white tub with four, three feet tall legs. There was an electronic cord and a hose attached. She plugged in the cord and began attaching the hose to the sink as I exclaimed,
“What the heck is that?”
“It’s a washing machine silly.”
She said this as if we had not grown up in the same household with all the latest modern equipment.
She sighed. “It is the best we have, and it does the job.” She brushed back a lock of wavy black hair behind her ear and continued, “Besides it beats the heck out of a washboard.”
I shrugged my shoulders and began loading the ancient cleaning apparatus. After loading, I turned to my sister and inquired,
“Where’s the laundry detergent?”
My sister’s green eyes widened.
“ Ahhh, opps, we are out.”
“You want me to run down to the trading post?”
“It’s closed. But I have an idea.” My sister said as she bent over and opened the cabinet beneath the sink. She pulled out a bottle of dish soap.
“Soap is soap right? If it can clean dishes, it should clean clothes just fine.”
Sounded good to me. So we poured some into the machine and turned it on. We then retreated to the living room, her to work on a sewing project, and me to play with my nephew. We heard the device agitating and gurgling a bit, and with naivety continued with our tasks. A short time later we went to check on the clothes, and low and behold, the kitchen was filled with bubbles. It was like a scene from a Lucy episode. It was hard to even locate the washer. Panic ensued with the thought of my sister’s mother-in-law coming out and confirming her view of my sister’s ineptitude.
We slipped and slid our way into the sudsy mess and grabbed some bowls from the cupboards. The bailing commenced. We would then run to the bathroom with the containers and fill the tub, rinsing the bubbles down the drain. We were soon soaked and were trying not to be loud. The absurdity of the situation, coupled with the fear of waking Granny, made it difficult not to break out in hysterical laughter. We managed to mop up the remaining mess with towels, just moments before Granny awoke from her rest.
Granny entered the kitchen. Behind her bottle cap thick glasses, her eyebrows arched. The floor sparkled clean and the air had a lemony fresh scent. I think that, along with our disheveled appearance, gave off the wrong impression.
“Oh wah, didn’t know you guy’s were going to scrub the floors, guess your good for something.”
I think that was the first time in my life I was quiet, probably cause I was biting my tongue to keep from laughing. Oh, and by the way the clothes came out clean too, but soap is not always the right soap. Lesson learned.
Thursday, February 14, 2013
Pillow Talk (A Valentines Day Up-date)
Pillow Talk
“The titanium screws in my ankle,” he moans. “The arthritis in my knee,” I whine.
It becomes a contest.
“The crick in my neck”
“My lower back”
“My blood sugar is low”
“I think I have a kidney stone”
I finally acquiesced. “You win.”
“I win.” He says as a smile spreads across his face. The smile quickly turns into a puzzled look. “I win what?’
I sigh, and reply, “The last Tylenol with Codeine and a peaceful nights sleep. I’m heading for the living room and the Lazyboy.”
I think I remember what our Pillow Talk use to sound like. You know, before children, or gray hair.
“I Think we need a new mattress, this one is lumpy.”
“Who needs a new mattress when we have each other for comfort.”
“Ohh is that cinnamon lotion.”
“Yea, for one spicy hot woman.”
“Is that the phone I hear?”
“It can wait, our love can’t.”
Then it slowly started to change as the years snuck by.
“ I think they mismarked the mattress, there does not seem to be enough room for both of us on this king sized bed.”
“ Ohh! Honey, is that Tanactrin? Could you rub some on my foot, I think I’m getting a fungus under my left toe.”
“ Is that the phone I hear? ”
“ I’ll get it, it might be Joe about war gamming night.”
My little trip down memory lane is interrupted, as my concerned, loving spouse, comes out to my Lazyboy sanctuary. He brings me a heated rice sock for my neck.
“ Aww, you do still love me.” I croon.
“ Of course Hon,” he replies. “But could you try keeping the snoring down a bit tonight? I think it might help that peaceful night sleep I won.”
I resist the urge to throw the rice sock at him.
“Sure DEAR, but maybe, you could use the ear plugs I so lovingly bought you for Christmas.”
“Good idea.” He mumbles as he ambles back down the hall to the bedroom.
(A Few Days Later)
Well, I’ve come to a conclusion; it may be less heart pounding talk, and occasionally from different pillows, but at least we still talk. I have to sign off now; William and I are having a race. Who can fall to sleep fastest? He misplaced the earplugs somewhere and he cuts the Z’s rather loud himself. I think I have a Bayer nighttime left somewhere.
“The titanium screws in my ankle,” he moans. “The arthritis in my knee,” I whine.
It becomes a contest.
“The crick in my neck”
“My lower back”
“My blood sugar is low”
“I think I have a kidney stone”
I finally acquiesced. “You win.”
“I win.” He says as a smile spreads across his face. The smile quickly turns into a puzzled look. “I win what?’
I sigh, and reply, “The last Tylenol with Codeine and a peaceful nights sleep. I’m heading for the living room and the Lazyboy.”
I think I remember what our Pillow Talk use to sound like. You know, before children, or gray hair.
“I Think we need a new mattress, this one is lumpy.”
“Who needs a new mattress when we have each other for comfort.”
“Ohh is that cinnamon lotion.”
“Yea, for one spicy hot woman.”
“Is that the phone I hear?”
“It can wait, our love can’t.”
Then it slowly started to change as the years snuck by.
“ I think they mismarked the mattress, there does not seem to be enough room for both of us on this king sized bed.”
“ Ohh! Honey, is that Tanactrin? Could you rub some on my foot, I think I’m getting a fungus under my left toe.”
“ Is that the phone I hear? ”
“ I’ll get it, it might be Joe about war gamming night.”
My little trip down memory lane is interrupted, as my concerned, loving spouse, comes out to my Lazyboy sanctuary. He brings me a heated rice sock for my neck.
“ Aww, you do still love me.” I croon.
“ Of course Hon,” he replies. “But could you try keeping the snoring down a bit tonight? I think it might help that peaceful night sleep I won.”
I resist the urge to throw the rice sock at him.
“Sure DEAR, but maybe, you could use the ear plugs I so lovingly bought you for Christmas.”
“Good idea.” He mumbles as he ambles back down the hall to the bedroom.
(A Few Days Later)
Well, I’ve come to a conclusion; it may be less heart pounding talk, and occasionally from different pillows, but at least we still talk. I have to sign off now; William and I are having a race. Who can fall to sleep fastest? He misplaced the earplugs somewhere and he cuts the Z’s rather loud himself. I think I have a Bayer nighttime left somewhere.
Sunday, December 2, 2012
"Freindship," The Perfect Re-gift
THE GIFT THAT KEEPS ON GIVING
It’s that time of year again. The neighborhoods are filled with colored lights and plastic blow-up Santa’s. The bell ringers and red kettles are set up in front of the stores.
My favorite radio station is playing carols twenty-four-seven. Traffic has seemed to increase tenfold.
Although I know it is the advent of the Lord, I soon forget in my panic, with the arrival of relatives you only see once a year. I hear from the various traditional movies played on TV, “Peace on Earth and Goodwill to Man.” Only, in the bible it is worded different, it is, “Peace on Earth to Men of Goodwill.” So, I try to get into the spirit of the holiday. I set up a box for donations to the food bank and challenge my classes to fill it with items the shelters can use. I promise a party to the class with the most donations. The main item donated is of course macaroni and cheese. This is defiantly considered one of my teenagers main food groups, although I wonder how tired the needy get of this particular mainstay. My husband was volunteered to deliver presents from our church to the needy, so starts our preparation for Christmas.
We had a rough year financially, because of some medical bills, so we make a pac to only buy gifts for the immediate family, “ Yeah right!”
All have heard tales of the passed around fruitcake. I have not had this experience, but definately close. In years past I have always received, generously, gifts from my Taekwondo students. Usually years have themes. I have nicknamed them according to the themes. There was the Lotion Year, there was the Potpourri Year (That year I received five potpourri kits) there was the Year of the Candle, and Year of the Picture Frames, but my favorite was fattening, it was the Year of the Cookies!
What has this to do with my financial promise you might ask? Well, it goes like this, I read recently in the manners column of the newspaper a question that was posed, “ Dear Miss Manners,” it said, “When is it appropriate to re-gift? I quickly closed the paper and made up my answer on the spot, now was the perfect, acceptable time, when I’m completely broke and very desperate. My Child comes up with a few of the obligations at gifting such as, her teachers, her barn pals, the horse (He’s easy, a carrot will do.) My husband comes up with a few more; our church party, the in-laws, the best friends. The TV even tries to remind me of more obligations; the postman, the paperboy, the bank tellers, what?
The Dollar store becomes my best friend now. As each new forgotten subject comes up, my search for a cheap thoughtful gift becomes more difficult, and the drawer filled with past-received, non-necessary items, gets more tempting. An old friend calls up and says she is dropping by. I run to the drawer and pick out a coffee mug given to me a few years past. I quickly wrap it up and place a bow on top quite pleased with myself that I did not totally panic. She arrives a few hours later, we chat and catch up on old times.
She hands me a gift and I beam as I return the favor. Oh, she exclaims, “that was not necessary.” We unwrap our presents and my friend starts to laugh hysterically, tears even running down her cheeks. “What?” I ask.
She answers choking down her mirth, “ I bought you this cup two years ago.”
I now drop my head in shame, my face turning scarlet. Seeing my distress she reassures me, “ No, don’t be embarrassed. I’m laughing because I re-gifted too!”
I now join in the laughter. My friends then say, “Well, I’m going over to Sue's later maybe the cup will do.” I offer the scarf on my lap and she sheepishly replies, “ That was from Sue last year.”
We hug and agree the most important gift is our friendship, and we don’t mind that it is a re-gift!
It’s that time of year again. The neighborhoods are filled with colored lights and plastic blow-up Santa’s. The bell ringers and red kettles are set up in front of the stores.
My favorite radio station is playing carols twenty-four-seven. Traffic has seemed to increase tenfold.
Although I know it is the advent of the Lord, I soon forget in my panic, with the arrival of relatives you only see once a year. I hear from the various traditional movies played on TV, “Peace on Earth and Goodwill to Man.” Only, in the bible it is worded different, it is, “Peace on Earth to Men of Goodwill.” So, I try to get into the spirit of the holiday. I set up a box for donations to the food bank and challenge my classes to fill it with items the shelters can use. I promise a party to the class with the most donations. The main item donated is of course macaroni and cheese. This is defiantly considered one of my teenagers main food groups, although I wonder how tired the needy get of this particular mainstay. My husband was volunteered to deliver presents from our church to the needy, so starts our preparation for Christmas.
We had a rough year financially, because of some medical bills, so we make a pac to only buy gifts for the immediate family, “ Yeah right!”
All have heard tales of the passed around fruitcake. I have not had this experience, but definately close. In years past I have always received, generously, gifts from my Taekwondo students. Usually years have themes. I have nicknamed them according to the themes. There was the Lotion Year, there was the Potpourri Year (That year I received five potpourri kits) there was the Year of the Candle, and Year of the Picture Frames, but my favorite was fattening, it was the Year of the Cookies!
What has this to do with my financial promise you might ask? Well, it goes like this, I read recently in the manners column of the newspaper a question that was posed, “ Dear Miss Manners,” it said, “When is it appropriate to re-gift? I quickly closed the paper and made up my answer on the spot, now was the perfect, acceptable time, when I’m completely broke and very desperate. My Child comes up with a few of the obligations at gifting such as, her teachers, her barn pals, the horse (He’s easy, a carrot will do.) My husband comes up with a few more; our church party, the in-laws, the best friends. The TV even tries to remind me of more obligations; the postman, the paperboy, the bank tellers, what?
The Dollar store becomes my best friend now. As each new forgotten subject comes up, my search for a cheap thoughtful gift becomes more difficult, and the drawer filled with past-received, non-necessary items, gets more tempting. An old friend calls up and says she is dropping by. I run to the drawer and pick out a coffee mug given to me a few years past. I quickly wrap it up and place a bow on top quite pleased with myself that I did not totally panic. She arrives a few hours later, we chat and catch up on old times.
She hands me a gift and I beam as I return the favor. Oh, she exclaims, “that was not necessary.” We unwrap our presents and my friend starts to laugh hysterically, tears even running down her cheeks. “What?” I ask.
She answers choking down her mirth, “ I bought you this cup two years ago.”
I now drop my head in shame, my face turning scarlet. Seeing my distress she reassures me, “ No, don’t be embarrassed. I’m laughing because I re-gifted too!”
I now join in the laughter. My friends then say, “Well, I’m going over to Sue's later maybe the cup will do.” I offer the scarf on my lap and she sheepishly replies, “ That was from Sue last year.”
We hug and agree the most important gift is our friendship, and we don’t mind that it is a re-gift!
Wednesday, October 24, 2012
Sleep by Therese Guy
Last Evening I had trouble sleeping and the following poem was inspired by my restless night.
Sleep
My elusive lover,
Robs me of his sweet embrace.
Murders my dreams.
With the stealth of a ninja,
He poisons my system.
And my body twist and turns,
Tangling in my funeral shroud.
My cries to be rescued,
"Sandman"
Go unheeded,
Oh, to feel his loving caress,
To revel in his touch,
Just drift away,
In silent ecstasy.
But he is a no show,
I think we are headed,
For divorce!
Sleep
My elusive lover,
Robs me of his sweet embrace.
Murders my dreams.
With the stealth of a ninja,
He poisons my system.
And my body twist and turns,
Tangling in my funeral shroud.
My cries to be rescued,
"Sandman"
Go unheeded,
Oh, to feel his loving caress,
To revel in his touch,
Just drift away,
In silent ecstasy.
But he is a no show,
I think we are headed,
For divorce!
Tuesday, September 18, 2012
Internet Dating
INTERNET DATING
I’m not sure what the statistics are, but as I head for fiftyfour, a great many girlfriends of mine, through the trials of their lives are finding themselves back in the singles category. This category puts them into another category, the looking for love category. In other words dating.
Well things have changed since they were younger, and the fastest most convenient, shopping for a man market, is now done with a modem or high-speed dial up. Enter the world of personal ads and blurry pictures.
One of my best friends has been trying this avenue. Although she has not dialed up love with a mass murderer (we think) her luck has not been great either. I feel there should be a school on interpretation of on-line personal ads. One that teaches you to read between the lines such as:
His statement:
v I like to stay in and watch movies and pop popcorn.
What he really means:
v I’m under house arrest, so we have to stay in.
His statement:
v Occasionally drinks.
What he really means:
v Water, that is, beer is a daily necessity.
He says:
v I share a cozy cottage with a family member.
He means:
v I still live with my Mom.
He says:
v I like taking long walks.
He means:
v I can’t afford gas and the bus stop is two miles from my apartment.
I think you get the drift. Well the last guy she met on the Internet she decided was not for her and he just does not seem to be getting the hint. I think she should try a few of these excuses they might help him get it.
Excuses:
1. I can’t go out right now I think I caught a virus from the computer. Did you use Purex before you e-mailed me?
2. I can’t go out on Thursday that is my dermatologist appointment for my facial wax.
3. Maybe next week, I’m almost finished with the final touches on my sex change operation.
Or she could just tell him the truth, I’m an almost fifty-year-old woman, going through menopause, and I’m not responsible for my hormonal actions that could include murder!
I am not single. However, the other day was a hard marriage day and when contemplating running away, my friend simply reminded me of the modern dating scene and I decided to stay put.
Wednesday, May 30, 2012
Motor Mouth
May 30th 2012
Motor Mouth
By Therese Guy
My friend posted a very funny and interesting post this week about how she attracts motor mouths as friends. I must say I would have to put myself in the chatterbox category of personalities. My brother use to taunt me with,
“Therese when you open your mouth your whole body disappears.”
If I were quiet as a child my mother would immediately take my temperature, cause if I was not talking--I certainly must have been ill!
My first grade teacher queried once, “Therese, why do you talk so much?”
My simple answer was, “Because I have a lot to say.”
To top it all off I married a man who can talk as much, if not more, then me. Our children had no chance, between heredity and environment; they could be nothing less then experts in the art of babbling.
I usually win in the duels of disseminating my vast knowledge (yeah right) only because I also inherited my dad’s loud voice. I have the highest amps.
One difficulty with all being talkers is our listening skills leave a little something to be desired. It is hard to focus on what another is saying when your busy thinking of the next thing you are going to relay.
My youngest daughter went through a teenage stage where she did not wish to talk or share information with me. I was so hurt and missed her noise. She is twenty now and has seemed to gotten over that. Trouble is she now wants to share and it usually is at eleven at night when I’m extremely tired and cannot seem to focus.
The other night she tried the above scenario. I tried to use some listening tricks I thought I had perfected. As she talked I interjected a few well placed, “uh-huh’s” and “really’s”. Even a few, “You don’t say’s.”
As she exited my room it took a few seconds to register what she had last said. I guess she recognized my zoned look and decided to be ornery.
She said, “Mom I’m pregnant and my boyfriend and I are broke, so we are gonna go knock off a bank.”
Not focusing I replied, “ That’s nice honey, have a good time.”
It did register though before she had gone too far down the hall and I rallied.
“Hey Erin, if it is a successful heist could you pick me up a pizza on the way home!”
Almost all jesting aside, I feel I have improved with age; I no longer get in trouble at the library, church, and hospitals. Thank God for texting!
Motor Mouth
By Therese Guy
My friend posted a very funny and interesting post this week about how she attracts motor mouths as friends. I must say I would have to put myself in the chatterbox category of personalities. My brother use to taunt me with,
“Therese when you open your mouth your whole body disappears.”
If I were quiet as a child my mother would immediately take my temperature, cause if I was not talking--I certainly must have been ill!
My first grade teacher queried once, “Therese, why do you talk so much?”
My simple answer was, “Because I have a lot to say.”
To top it all off I married a man who can talk as much, if not more, then me. Our children had no chance, between heredity and environment; they could be nothing less then experts in the art of babbling.
I usually win in the duels of disseminating my vast knowledge (yeah right) only because I also inherited my dad’s loud voice. I have the highest amps.
One difficulty with all being talkers is our listening skills leave a little something to be desired. It is hard to focus on what another is saying when your busy thinking of the next thing you are going to relay.
My youngest daughter went through a teenage stage where she did not wish to talk or share information with me. I was so hurt and missed her noise. She is twenty now and has seemed to gotten over that. Trouble is she now wants to share and it usually is at eleven at night when I’m extremely tired and cannot seem to focus.
The other night she tried the above scenario. I tried to use some listening tricks I thought I had perfected. As she talked I interjected a few well placed, “uh-huh’s” and “really’s”. Even a few, “You don’t say’s.”
As she exited my room it took a few seconds to register what she had last said. I guess she recognized my zoned look and decided to be ornery.
She said, “Mom I’m pregnant and my boyfriend and I are broke, so we are gonna go knock off a bank.”
Not focusing I replied, “ That’s nice honey, have a good time.”
It did register though before she had gone too far down the hall and I rallied.
“Hey Erin, if it is a successful heist could you pick me up a pizza on the way home!”
Almost all jesting aside, I feel I have improved with age; I no longer get in trouble at the library, church, and hospitals. Thank God for texting!
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
Winters Touch
Winter's hand has come calling.
From the eaves--icicle fingers reach.
Their cold touch--like death
Into its grasp I'm falling.
What happened to earth's warm embrace?
Was it all a calumny?
Mother natures vile trick.
Does she mock me to my face?
As the bitter wind does blow,
I endeavor to resist.
To the snow Queen, I will not bow,
Even as the trees bend low.
How will frost's sharp bite I stave?
Indoor sports I will play.
With my lover--beneath the sheets,
I will find the heat I crave.
From the eaves--icicle fingers reach.
Their cold touch--like death
Into its grasp I'm falling.
What happened to earth's warm embrace?
Was it all a calumny?
Mother natures vile trick.
Does she mock me to my face?
As the bitter wind does blow,
I endeavor to resist.
To the snow Queen, I will not bow,
Even as the trees bend low.
How will frost's sharp bite I stave?
Indoor sports I will play.
With my lover--beneath the sheets,
I will find the heat I crave.
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